Rough Day
by Sabine Grey
Summary: Logan finds a stranger in his favorite nighttime spot. (Logan/OC)


TITLE: Rough Day (1/?)  
  
AUTHOR: Sabine Grey  
  
EMAIL: sabine_grey@yahoo.com  
  
CATEGORY: General/Romance (Logan/OC)  
  
RATING: PG-13  
  
SPOILERS: None?  
  
ARCHIVE: If you'd like, but please let me know!  
  
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters, places and situations owned by Not Me, etc. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is my first published fan fic. I would love to hear any and all feedback, especially constructive criticism. "Rough Day" is a working title; it will most likely change when I have the next installment finished and more of my direction fleshed out. This started as a one-shot piece, but ideas for continuing it as a longer work have changed it some.  
  
I am no expert on the X-Men, so any corrections are most welcome.  
  
SUMMARY: Logan finds a stranger in his favorite nighttime spot.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Rough day?"  
  
The unfamiliar voice jolted her out of her dark thoughts. She had thought she was alone, with the glittering stars above as her only companions. But the voice and the silhouette against the doorway leading to the interior of the house contradicted that presumption. Sapped of the energy that had seen her though her day, she simply nodded. She thought she knew who the figure was and didn't think he would mind her lack of sociability. He moved toward her from the doorway, allowing the light to illuminate his features and confirm his identity. She had met him only hours before, but he was distinctive enough to stand out amongst all the new faces that had bombarded her that day.  
  
"You mind?" he asked, motioning to the spot next to her. He sat down in response to a subtle shake of her head. They sat there for a minute or so in silence before he spoke again.  
  
"Not much of a talker, are ya?"  
  
She shrugged and took a sip from the bottle of beer in her hand while he shifted uncomfortably. He took a brusque swig from his own bottle before speaking again.  
  
"Look, I'll go if you want. I didn't mean to barge in, but...you looked like you could use some company. I just thought, it's a new place - full of new people - and..."  
  
"No." she said simply. He was glad she had finally spoken, but he didn't understand exactly what she meant.  
  
"No?" he prodded.  
  
"I don't mind the company." She was surprised when she found that she meant it. She knew nothing about him, but felt inexplicably at ease with his presence. Perhaps it was the relaxed manner with which he seemed to regard life. This apparent ambivalence was soothing to her, in this mood that she was in.  
  
"Thank you." she added quietly as an afterthought.  
  
"Don't mention it."  
  
Then there was more silence, punctuated only by the occasional sound of liquid sloshing along the length of a bottle as it was brought up to someone's mouth. A cold breeze whipped by the balcony where they sat and she felt the light, downy hair on the back of her neck and arms raise with the chill. She closed her eyes and a slight smile appeared at the corners of her mouth.  
  
"Storm comin' in tonight." he said, matter-of-factly.  
  
"Is it Ms. Munroe?"  
  
"Naw, saw this one coming in on the Weather Channel." He smirked a little and she couldn't help but follow suit. But she quickly directed her gaze down to the bottle in her lap, concentrating on peeling the label from it. It was a nervous habit she'd picked up somewhere.  
  
"That must be so strange, to be able to control the weather." She exhaled a quick laugh and corrected herself, "Actually, all of it must be strange. To be different from everyone else, even from other mutants. Having no one else *just* like you; no one else dealing with the challenges and advantages that your particular mutation brings."  
  
It was the most she had spoken and he realized two things as he listened to her. The first was that she wasn't really speaking to him. She uttered her words as one taking counsel with herself. As though the thoughts swirling in her head had simply been shown the door to the outside world. Her gaze never left the bottle; her hands never ceased their picking at the scrappy edges of paper peeling from its surface. The second thing he realized was that he wanted her to keep speaking, that he liked the sound of her voice. It was soft and her words were chosen and spoken carefully, deliberately.  
  
"I don't know that anyone here really thinks of it as strange anymore, besides the new kids. You accept what can't be changed, you know? Besides, everybody's different from everybody else in some way."  
  
"But would you change it?" She looked up at him and into his eyes for the first time. The dark hid most of what lay within both pairs of eyes. But the scarce light filtering in from the house revealed an open inquisitiveness in hers that made him speak without thinking, without defense or pretense.  
  
"No. Sometimes I think it would be easier. But I don't remember anything but being the way I am. I don't know any different and it sure as hell comes in handy." He smiled again, surprised at how easy talking to her had turned out to be. He had been reluctant to approach her initially, but she was in one of his favorite spots to sit back and enjoy a beer in the evening. When he saw the heartsick look on her face though, he decided to join her despite his reluctance. They didn't need to talk, but he might be able to distract her a little from her troubles. She was more beautiful to him with that sadness in her eyes than when they had been introduced earlier. He'd thought that she was easy on the eyes, sure, but so composed. He saw something quite different now.  
  
"What is it? Your..." she hesitated, obviously uncomfortable.  
  
"My mutation?" he finished, feeling oddly benevolent towards her query. He was used to the stares of non-mutants and the unspoken questions in their eyes. But there was a difference here. She was treating him like a person and not a sideshow freak. She had come to the Institute, knowing that she would be surrounded by people she didn't understand. And she had come anyway. He gave her credit for her courage and suddenly had questions of his own. But first he would answer hers, the best way he knew how. He held his right hand out in front of them, closed the fingers into a loose fist and...  
  
*shink*  
  
...out came the slender, gleaming claws of adamantium; separating the skin on his knuckles in a familiar sight to him. It hurt, but he had long gotten past the discomfort at seeing his own skin sliced open, if there had ever been any.  
  
An involuntary shriek escaped her lips for a brief moment before she clapped both hands over her lips, eyes wide with astonishment and horror. Before he could register his disappointment at her reaction and retract his deadly appendages, her expression mollified and she let out a nervous laugh.  
  
"Thanks for the visual aid, but I could have used a warning." She surprised him by playfully socking him in the shoulder with the back of her hand.  
  
"Jesus, that must hurt." She scooted to the edge of the bench and a little closer to him, leaning out to see his hand better. He accommodated her desire for a better look, moving it cautiously towards her. He didn't normally have to concentrate on keeping his weapons from harming anyone they shouldn't, but the nearness of her was quite distracting. He could smell a sweet warmth emanating from her body. Because her head was turned away from him and toward the hand in front of her, he had a clear view to the skin on her neck. He knew he was staring, but the smell of her...  
  
He didn't notice that her hands were hovering about his proffered one. She didn't realize it either until she came dangerously close to transgressing the privilege he had shown to her. She caught herself and turned to ask his permission. She thought she caught him staring at her, but dismissed it as silly given how little she could actually see in the light of the sliver moon.  
  
"May I?" She inclined her head towards their hands.  
  
"Sure." he said simply, his voice breaking in the midst of that one little word. He knew he'd been busted, but she was good enough to ignore it. Or embarrassed enough, he thought to himself.  
  
She traced a fingertip along the dull top edge of the claw that protruded from the knuckle above his index finger. "I didn't know that mutations could involve inert materials."  
  
His eyes were following her finger intently. He found himself wishing that she was dragging it along malleable skin, where he could feel her touch. "Huh? Oh, ah, the metal's not part of my mutation."  
  
Now she looked confused. "What?"  
  
"It's a long story." He said it more abruptly than he meant it, or maybe just more abruptly than he wished to speak to her.  
  
Sensing that he wanted to drop it, she redirected. "Fair enough. So what is your mutation? I thought that's what you were showing me."  
  
He noticed that she did not hesitate when she said "your mutation". It made him strangely happy. He retracted the deadly metal just as quickly as he had unsheathed it. It elicited much the same response as when he'd displayed them, although admittedly diminished this time around. She shot him a glare as punishment for startling her again. And then she gasped at what she saw happening to the ravaged skin on his knuckles.  
  
It was mending itself; the gashes were closing as though they had a will of their own. Her mouth had dropped open in an idiotic expression, but she had no presence of mind to care. Nor did she ask permission before she grasped his hand between her two again. She held its heaviness in two sets of long, slender fingers. Her thumbs brushed his unscathed knuckles. His heart beat so violently in his chest that he felt it must be carrying all the way to his hand. She would not remain ignorant of what her touch was doing to him if she felt its syncopations.  
  
Now she was tracing the bones of his hand, searching for a trace of the weapons she had seen with her own eyes. She turned the hand over, took in the lines of his palm, and then turned it back over again. He submitted to her ginger manipulations without thinking.  
  
"It's amazing...I've never seen anything like it." She looked up into his eyes with an incredulous smile and blurted out, "It's beautiful, you know?"   
  
Before she'd finished speaking, she suddenly realized that she was in dangerous proximity to him. Her face was within inches of his, evidenced by his quick breath on her lips. His hand radiated warmth to hers, threatening them with its heat. She felt a flush blanket her face. It had happened so quickly, in a deluge of sensation and revelation. It had been camouflaged until this moment, when she found herself teetering on the brink. An attraction had materialized out of nothing. An attraction to a man she hardly knew, whom she had met just today. Worse still, he was essentially a co-worker, someone she would have to see every day for her stay at the Institute. It was all so ludicrous. She panicked, dropped his hand and stood abruptly.  
  
"Thank you for the company and for the...for showing me...for...Good night, Logan."  
  
She was through the door and gone before he could find his voice and ask her to stop. He stared at his hand and laughed derisively, chastising himself for imagining that he could feel her touch lingering there.  
  
"What is wrong with you, man?" he asked himself out loud with a dismissive shake of his head. He cracked the bones in his hand, downed the rest of his beer and got up to leave. Before he abandoned the balcony, however, he caught sight of the discarded label from her bottle, sitting on the ground below the bench. He stooped, picked it up and pocketed it, without knowing why. 


End file.
